Pyromance
by X6Herbius
Summary: I can't be the only one who thinks the Pyro's a bit sweet. He needs a friend - and what transpires here is part story, part speculation and part cartoon lovey-dovey stuff that makes the Pyro actually seem likeable. Reviews greatly appreciated. :D
1. Pyromance

The Red Pyro was tired. Of what, he didn't know, but for some reason the air didn't smell quite as sweet as it usually did after the quick bursts of flame and shouts of "Fire!"

Well, it wasn't as if the Blu team didn't know. There he was, wearing the whacking great suit with the mask on and the massive flamethrower, and everyone always seemed so surprised to find out they were burning.

"I do believe I'm on fire."

"Doc, c'mon, man!"

"I am melting!"

It had been funny, once. Now it was just annoying.

_"Whagga espght, yah wuggah!" _he mumbled angrily from behind the black gas mask as the corpse of a Heavy slowly roasted on the ground. Huh, sandwiches indeed. Snacking never got anybody anywhere.

The Pyro was in a bad mood. He'd got blood on his axe, his propane cannister had leaked itself dry and his crappy plastic flare gun casing had split. Again. He sighed. For all their experience at manufacturing, Red's modern material applications weren't all that good. I mean, for God's sake. Did anyone ever see men go up to the moon in a thermoset polytetraflouroethene rocket?

The Pyro fumbled momentarily with his thick gloves and dropped the flare he had been holding. It landed and ignited, singeing his foot. Muttering a curse, he kicked the smouldering lump of pyrotechnics off through the sewer doorway and watched as it bounced rather oddly off an invisible entity, setting alight thin air in the shape of a person.

"Fire, fire, fire!"

The now fully aflame shape began to run towards the Pyro, a knife beginning to appear as the figure uncloaked. Without a second thought, the Pyro took his axe and flung it at the Spy, the twirling of the tool perfectly coinciding so that the sharp end hit right where a face should have been. Impaled against the wall, the figure slowly slid to the floor as a green message appeared above its head with the usual satisfying chink.

"Critical Hit!"

What was with that, anyway? Apparently, just because he'd wound barbed wire around his axe it had become less powerful than usual, which didn't make any sense at all. Even more oddly, if he hit someone who was already on fire then that weird message spewed from them and the axe did double the damage. What, was it part of their soul or something? The Pyro preferred not to go into depth about killing people; it made it all the harder to burn them, and for anyone unfortunate enough to meet him the outcome was pretty certain anyway.

Extracting his now rather messy axe from the corpse with a lethal-sounding slash, the Pyro sighed again. He didn't even want to look down and see what damage he'd caused. Why did "the outcome" always have to be the same? He was alive, the other guy was dead and the world was a little more lonely.

But not quite as lonely as him. The Pyro was an outcast; everyone always resented him because they thought his job was so easy. Just walk in and flame. Everyone dies. Walk on a bit further. More people die. _W+M1..._What did that even mean? Some cryptic label for a loner whose only consolation was to burn anything that got in his way.

With a dejected _"Mmrrph," _the Pyro flung the remains of his flare gun at the dead Spy and wandered off, wiping the blood from his axe. He'd probably go check upstairs, give himself something to do. Not likely it would come to much use, though.

It was on this quick excursion, however, that the Pyro met his match. Rounding the corner from the spawn room onto the battlements, he came abruptly mask-to-mask with someone who looked almost exactly like himself.

It was a Blu Pyro. The pair of them, almost creature-like in their rubber outfits, immediately stopped in their tracks, the Red Pyro with his still bloodstained axe and the Blu with a large flamethrower that looked even more menacing than the standard model.

For a moment they stood and stared. Then, dismissing the adversary as just another foe, the Blu Pyro pulled the trigger on the flamethrower in a termination of their brief recognition.

Well, apart from the fact that the flamethrower was out of gas. The blue pilot light at the front flickered slightly and went out, leaving an empty and useless weapon in the hands of a dead opponent. The Blu Pyro paused, checked over its tool and then, realising what was about to happen, dropped it to the floor in defeat.

But the Red Pyro, with axe still in hand, remained frozen to the spot. There was something about this other Pyro. Something different. For a start, he wasn't even sure if the other Pyro was a "he". It was different, in posture and in appearance, and over its shoulder the Red Pyro could just spot a band of pink, like a strap from some sort of bag.

Could this be a female Pyro?

The Blu Pyro in question, evidently confused by the lack of offensive, emitted a puzzled noise from the depths of its mask and moved a little closer to its Blu counterpart. It's voice was higher than the Red Pyro was used to, calmer, more comforting.

And he never thought he'd sense _that _quality in an enemy.

Suddenly realising that his Evil Twin was waving a gloved hand up and down in front of his face, the Red Pyro shook his head and lowered the axe that he had been holding defensively in front of himself. He looked into the mask of the other Pyro, then at the pink shoulder strap of the bag. He pointed at it.

_"Ungh yuh...?"_

_"Mm-hmm." _The Blu Pyro nodded, fetching the bag it had over its arm. It was completely pink, a miniature handbag with a small flower on the front and back ends. She held it out and the Red Pyro and he studied it in fascination.

_"Mmrrph."_

Well, this was certainly interesting. It had been a long while since the Pyro had set eyes on a female, especially one of his own kind, and he was startled by the suddenness of it all. The big question, though, was whether it would work between them; after all, they were both on different teams, sworn enemies of each other right from day one. Nevertheless, he was feeling quite taken by it all, by her mask that seemed to be smiling, with the big red dot on its forehead.

Wait.

_"Naw!"_

A rifle shot split the sleepy air, the bullet passing straight through the Blu Pyro's head. Without a sound she crumpled forwards, leaving the Red Pyro suddenly holding just a bag, a bag of a dead possibility. He stood, stunned.

"You wanna watch yahself, mate!" the Sniper responsible shouted. He strode over from the edge of the balcony, behind the Red Pyro. "Nasty firecracker coulda made roast beef outta yah. Lucky I spotted in time- "

Before the Sniper knew what had happened, the blunt end of an axe had struck the side of his skull with a fair bit of force. He fell, face first, onto the hard wooden floorboards, his rifle clattering a few feet from his body.

The Pyro made light work of this piece of scrap metal. Shame he couldn't have killed the twat instead, but the _Woman _wouldn't like it and it would just result in his sacking. Or _firing. _How ironic. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad after all.

Before the Pyro could react on this impulse, he remembered the handbag that was still clutched in his glove. Relinquishing it, he looked over the daisy motifs and the vibrant pink material, the zip still done up tight. With a tear emerging inside his thick mask, he decided the bag should remain unopened, whatever was inside belonging to its rightful owner, not him. He'd never even found out her name.

Then it came to him. _Daisy... _The flowers on the bag would tell the story long after the owner was gone. Casting a last gaze over the dead Pyro and unconscious Sniper, both face down on the ground, the Red Pyro sadly returned to his resupply room, to continue the fight. The bag would remain in his locker, untouched.

Still, at least one thing was certain. _He wasn't a woman._

**

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If you like what you see, please review! :) I'd like some feedback on this one.**


	2. Warfare

**I started writing this chapter one evening quite a while back and suddenly remembered about it today. Bon appetite!**

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Black and white photos were brandished in front of his face, warped slightly by the mask. Unconscious body. Twisted, broken lump of metal. Australian hat, slightly bloodstained.

"May I ask you", said the voice, sickly sweet and dripping with venom, "as a member of this _team _and in all seriousness of the matter, _what the hell you think you were doing?"_

The woman was sitting up quite straight at the other side of the desk, as usual, not a hair out of place. Her sleek black suit was in stark contrast to her eyes, shining with fury and laced with flames of malice. No matter how many times the Pyro went through these ordeals, it never ever got any easier.

"As if the Medic team wasn't busy enough already!" The woman rose from her seat, stalking around the edge of the table almost weightlessly, with elegant fingers caressing the varnished wood. "Now, suddenly, we have a friendly _fire _incident to deal with, on account of a single member."

"The word "fire" was pronounced with more irony than all eight of the other team members together could muster. No wonder this woman was such an effective leader. She got things done, and she got them done fast. Just her voice was enough to send a grown Scout running, or so the rumours went.

"And imagine my surprise when I heard it was _you _who was responsible!"

True, this wasn't the first time the Pyro had been in a similar situation; last time it had concerned a Demoman's explosives stock and a mis-aimed flare. That hadn't been pretty.

The woman bent down, placing a hand on the Pyro's shoulder, and stared into his mask. He shivered with a chill even colder than the glare he was being given.

"Furthermore," the woman snapped, her hand whipping a large paper invoice from her pocket and brandishing it in the Pyro's face in one fluid movement, "the weapon was obviously rendered completely unusable. Do you have any idea how much these cost? We shell out millions of dollars _every day," _she indicated the invoice, "on equipment for you pathetic bunch of failures to run around with. You might have heard how much it costs to run the _Heavy Weapons Division _around here.

"And the next thing I know, we have a man down on our own side because of some selfish vengeance attack by an enraged Pyro."

The woman strutted around the back of the Pyro's interrogation chair, her polished black shoes echoing against the tile floor of the office, her hand still on his shoulder. The Pyro could feel her blood-red fingernails digging into his suit, leaking her cold, cruel energy under his skin. It was thoroughly uncomfortable.

"I have a question for you."

She was back level with the desk again, hands to herself, staring at him.

"After the _clear warning _from the last incident, having been told that renegade behaviour was completely unacceptable, what in the world possessed you to commit these actions?"

The Pyro stared intently at the grain of the desk in front of him, all too aware of the piercing glare he was receiving. Should he tell her? Somehow he doubted he'd be believed.

_"Uh,"_ he mumbled, _"It wus pruvuhked-"_

The woman let out a loud, cruel laugh. No matter how the Pyro tried to disguise his words, no matter how difficult he was to understand to everyone else, she always seemed to know exactly what he was saying.

"I should think that shouldn't matter! This is _warfare, _if you are not already aware, and it is not part of your job to go around maiming your own team mates! This means _more _unnecessary cost to the organisation and – IF I HAVE TO TELL YOU ONCE MORE ABOUT KNOCKING YOU'LL HAVE YOUR BAT UP YOUR GLORY HOLE QUICKER THAN YOU CAN SAY 'RAINBOWS MAKE ME CRY'!"

The office door slammed quickly. The woman was enraged.

"In fact – you – out! If I ever see your featureless face in here again you'll be in more trouble than Robin Walker on update day!"

The Pyro took the hint.


	3. Still a chance

**At first, this story was just going to be a one-shot. Then it turned into a two-shot. Now I've got even more ideas, so there might just be some more chapters on their way soon. Enjoy.**

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It was night. The moon hung in the sky like a coin of silver, laying its benevolence upon the land below. A curious half-breeze caused the tree branches to shift a little in their slumber, the wooden cutout of a cow swaying the tiniest amount on its struts. Everything was silent.

If anyone had happened to have been watching the scene from a vantage point in the night, it would have taken a very watchful eye to notice the slight gleam that appeared just inside the front doorway of the Red Intelligence building. The Pyro, his black mask glittering in apprehension, surveyed the surroundings carefully. No-one was around.

He tiptoed back inside. To the left, the burned body of the Blu Spy still slumbered pathetically against the wall; to the right, a couple of mangled metal shards lay in a heap next to the orange safety helmet of an Engineer. God only knew what had happened to the body.

The Pyro was pleased: it appeared that the nightly cleanup operation had not yet begun. As quietly as he could muster, lest a late-drinking Demoman still be around, the Pyro crept through the hub courtyard and upstairs to the balconies. As he passed the Resupply room, the idle chatter of some of his team mates drifted out from inside.

"Well, he was just standing there, the sorry-ass maggot! So I got up off the floor and looked at him, real intense-like, straight between the eyes, and said 'I am Penis Cupcake!'"

Laughter erupted.

"Oh ho ho! That slaps me on ze sandvich!"

"I seriously cannot believe you did that! That's just freaking epic, bro!"

"Aye! And after what 'appened to his cousin..."

More laughter. The Pyro, however, had more pressing matters to attend to. He headed around the corner, emerging outiside in the full moonlight. The air felt cool and clean through his mask vents. Everything seemed to be going to plan.

Slinking forwards, the Pyro approached his target. His stomach gave a slight lurch as he spotted her: a formless blue shape lying face-down on the wooden floorboards, unmoving. He bent down and turned over the body. The female Pyro looked exactly as he had remembered her earlier that day: there was something about her mask, which she had adorned with a small pink heart on the side of the air filter, that was different from the many others he'd seen. He reminiced about the encounter: there had been something friendly about that mask, despite the fact that it was just a piece of plastic and rubber.

But there was no time to dwell on that just now. Being as careful as he could, the Red Pyro slid his gloved hands gently underneath the body of his Blu counterpart and heaved it up into his arms. The lifeless head lolled around a little and the mask ended up staring directly into the Pyro's eyes.

He sighed. No. She wasn't a corpse yet. Not yet. There was still a chance.

Suddenly, a snort echoed from further down the balcony and the Pyro froze in his tracks, hugging the body close to him. He stared into the night, trying to see who was there.

A few metres away, a Sniper stirred slightly in his sleep, slouched in the lookout's chair.

"Of course, Mis...Mister Hale. I'll sleep with the water buffalo..."

Relieved , the Red Pyro tiptoed quietly back the way he had come, cradling the Blu-clad body. He sneaked past the Resupply room once again.

"Yeh, ah know. Hey, did yeh hear 'bout Pyro and that Sniper? They 'ad a fight or sommet, over some dead whoopsie. 'Parrently the Sniper'd killed some Blu bas'd for him and Pyro smashed him over the 'ead. 'Recked the rifle, too."

"Hah. Always thought he was a douche."

Roars of mirth echoed around the first floor of the building. Unseen by anyone, the Pyro decended into the basement.


	4. Not Quite Otolaryngology

**Turns out GCSE German does come in useful after all. To a larger extent, so does Google Translator.**

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The Red Medic's underground laboratory was a place the Pyro seldom visited. He'd never found it entirely pleasant: the harsh concrete walls were covered with stains, and in some places blood; there were many tables and desks and shelves housing an assortment of sophisticated and rather deadly-looking pieces of equipment; there had even been a rumour that a Scout had come down here looking for his lost ball, and had ended up losing several more.

The Pyro could feel a slight chill passing down his spine as he reached the very bottom of the descending corridor. The air conditioning units cycled their breath in a never-ending snarl, lacing the air with ribbons almost of frost. The cool was a very different cool to that outside; it was artificial and not at all pleasant, like water that has sat in a flask for so long it has taken on the taste of the plastic, except this flask was a frigid, concrete and in some places biohazardous one. There could still be traces of a victim's dying breath, shed as a scream, circulating endlessly in the void.

Trying not to think of such possibilities (the almost poetic imagery made it even worse), the Pyro grit his teeth and knocked, albeit with a little difficulty considering the body he was carrying, on the cold steel blast door, the only object at the end of the featureless corridor.

There was a few seconds' silence when suddenly the large locking wheel in the door's centre spun clockwise, and with a heavy _ker-chunk_ and a lot of what looked like white smoke the door swung slowly inwards. There was also a lot of coughing.

"Apologies. I have just had a new CO2 fire safety system installed...it still needs a little work."

The Medic was standing in the doorway holding his bloodstained bonesaw. He stood back and the Pyro entered, carrying the blue-suited body. The lab looked even stranger than the last time he'd seen it: there were more filing cabinets, a substantially bigger collection of nasty-looking syringes and needles and a jar full of bright green liquid up on a high shelf, housing what looked suspiciously like a floating Spy head. The Pyro chose to avoid looking at it.

"Ah, so zis is ze patient." The Medic looked mildly surprised as he slammed the door closed. "A Blu?"

The Pyro nodded. He rested the body on the high metal table that sat in the centre of the room and the Medic put down his bonesaw to examine it.

"Hmm. Not ze type I usually like to work on - apart from in certain circumstances." he hinted at the Spy head. "Thought he could stab me while I was working. Ach. Should know better. French scum."

The Medic smiled maliciously. "I received your...donation, as well." He swept over to a wooden workdesk at the far side of the room, on top of which was a brushed aluminium briefcase, open, with what looked like some sort of headband lying inside. The Medic picked it out and fingered it happily before placing it around his forehead.

"Ze fabled Otolaryngologist's Mirror. I really do not know where you find zese things; maybe it shows how idle you are." The Medic laughed somewhat manically at his own joke but stopped at the disapproving glare he was being given. "Apologies. I am your Doktor and will refrain from insulting you any longer. Anyway, to business."

The Medic made his way back to the operating table, where the Pyro was clutching it with one gloved hand rather apprehensively. He watched as the Medic inspected the lifeless body carefully, adjusting his mirror a little as he did so.

"I do not think ze procedure should be a problem, but tell me:" His gloved finger rested delicately over the clean hole at the Blu Pyro's forehead. "Why would you choose an _enemy,_ out of all ze people, and, if I may say so, one who has been so perfectly dispatched?"

The Pyro could feel his blood beginning to boil slightly. He turned his head and the Medic followed his gaze, coming to rest on the small pink heart that adorned the Blu Pyro's gas mask.

"Ah, I see." His face took on a knowing smile. "Well, happy as I am to help out a fellow team mate - whatever ze situation may be."

The Red Pyro could feel himself flushing and was immensely glad for his mask. He tapped his foot impatiently.

_"Chld we -"_

"Of course." The Medic stepped back from the table, still smiling, and pranced over to the far corner of the room. He tugged at a huge, industrial-sized metal circuit breaker lever and snapped it down into place: at once, a loud whirring sound began to churn from the ceiling and a couple of the lab's wall lights flickered lazily.

"Now, I must inform you of two things!" The Medic struggled to make his voice heard above the growing thunder of mechanical machinery echoing from above, and a metal hatch door above the surgery table began to slide open. "Ze first is that zis procedure is _highly_ experimental and entirely top-secret - I will have you know zat the intelligence you mercenaries spend your _precious little lives_ defending contains ze very schematics used to build the instruments you will see in action! Ze second is - zat is _quite _far enough, Danke!" The Medic leapt urgently forwards to intercept a particularly lethal-looking circular saw that was whizzing a couple of inches above the Blu Pyro's neck. "- ze _second _is that it is limited in ze extent and complexity of tissue it can repair. Judging by ze severity of your subject's injuries - " he indicated the head wound "- there may be some memory loss, to say ze least. Nevertheless, we must experiment."

The plethora of medical equipment hanging from the ceiling above the operating table finally came to a standstill. The Medic studied the various arms and instruments for a few moments, then pulled down a few syringes attached to some clear drip pipes and a large, unpleasant-looking pair of what looked like car jump leads. From underneath the operating table he brought out two palm-sized metal pads and placed them to the Blu Pyro's chest, before attaching the jump leads to them. One syringe was inserted through the Pyro's suit and into its chest and the other – the Red Pyro grimaced – straight into the side of its head.

"Perfekt." The Medic stepped back and surveyed his patient. "Now all zat needs to be done is -"

The medic pressed a small control pad button on the wall behind him and iron clamps sprang up from the table, pinning down the Blu Pyro's legs and arms. The Red Pyro suddenly felt a little uneasy.

Sweeping around the table, the Medic crossed over the room to an industrial-looking closet framed with imposing metal doors. Opening them and searching around inside, he emerged a few moments later with a sturdy metal trolley whose control boxes trailed several wires across the floor as he wheeled it over to the table.

"Zis -" the Medic indicated the trolley to the Pyro as he began plugging the wires into nearby sockets "- is ze control unit for ze whole operation. I will make sure zat everything is calibrated and zen we can begin."

The Medic flicked a few switches on the trolley and with a massive _ker-chunk_ the whole room was plunged into total darkness. The Red Pyro looked around apprehensively but the Medic's voice issued from somewhere to his left.

"Apologies. Zis draws enough power to black out ze entire lab. _Ein Moment_ -"

A couple more switch flicks and a surgical lamp lit up the operating table, followed by a yellowy-orange light from the control unit. The Pyro could see the Medic's face now, adorned with his mirror, surveying the body of the Blu Pyro and smiling. It was an odd smile.

"Excellent."

The Red Pyro shivered a little and placed his gloved hand on his Blu counterpart's, and waited.

A low humming began to fill the room. A little of the same green liquid as the Pyro had seen in the Spy head jar tricked from the pipes hanging from the ceiling, slowly filling the syringes. A rumble emanated from the equipment hatch above and the grille on a nearby ventilation duct fell open. The Medic was pressing more buttons, tweaking knobs and reciting to himself.

"_Voltzahl: dreihundert; Oszillator: stabil; Aminos__ä__uren in L__ö__sung: f__ünfzehn Milligramm. Alle befriedigend."_

There was something about the almost luminescent substance in the syringes that reminded the Red Pyro unpleasantly of venom.

"Und so, in ze words of ze disgusting _Franz__ösich_ scumbags:" The Medic grinned. _"Allon-zee."_

The syringes inserted into the Blue Pyro began to compress. The Red Pyro felt nervous; very nervous. He was now doubting the wisdom to come down to this lab. Wasn't there some story about some monster resurrected by a guy named Hammelstein? Frankincense? That hadn't turned out too well. What if, instead of saving the Blu Pyro, he just ended up causing her more pain? Those strong wrist and ankle clamps might not be there merely for Health and Safety; in the Medic's world, such a concept didn't seem to exist.

Was he doing the right thing?

The underlying humming was becoming louder. The Medic raised his voice.

"Kardio resuscitation in five seconds! Four! Three – _do not _touch_ ze patient, imbecile!"_

The Medic slapped the Red Pyro's hand away from the operating table. Startled, he jumped backwards; the jump leads gave a crackle and there was a monumental flash of electricity. For a moment, everything was white.

"She is _alive!_"


End file.
